- As part of my love for you, my angel
- I decided to plan a dinner for the two of us.
- Did you let the two of them cook dinner?
- Don't worry, boss! We've got everything ready!
Imagine going on a date, and both of your lackeys decided to plan it for you and your girlfriend… but it goes wrong. Especially if you know the kitchen will be on fire, and you'll have to clean up the mess.
BONUS:
I had to include this one because they look so cute and stupid in the sketch
The good thing about having a boyfriend who is over 6 meters tall is that he can carry you and take you anywhere.
((Guess who can already draw digitally? Not me, but that's because the adapter arrived late. And it's been a long time since I've drawn on a tablet… so this was rushed.))
BONUS
Except when he carries you like a sack of potatoes
Now, there isn't just one human, there are two… and this one might be different from the supposed Angel of the Prototype. They call him Poppy's Butcher. It becomes an encounter between two different colleagues, trapped in the same hell from which no one can escape.
I imagine there are two former factory employees. Player, or "Butcher," is an acquaintance or not-so-close friend of Morgan's. But fate has a very twisted way of bringing familiar faces together… especially with the current situation.
- Damn, I really hate this place. -
- Yeah, same here… the same disaster.
- At least we're still here…
- Why are we still here?…
- Because we're still alive…?
BONUS.
I think they're good friends, but it seems things have changed. Does it depend on what the…angels dictate?
I have a headcanon about us (the player) and humans being basically angels or surface beings for the experiments/monsters in the factory. You'll notice they've referred to the player as the "angel" on some occasions, like Dogday or Giblet.
Also, keep in mind that the factory is ENORMOUS… in the sense that we have to go down or through caverns. Like Dante's Inferno, each ring or chapter is a penance… until we reach the depths. (At this rate, we'll pass near the Earth's centre). We don't know how big the factory is inside, but the fact that some of the employees knew nothing about the large bodies, and that they have enough space for an orphanage, laboratories, a prison, large dollhouses, other caverns, and that the prototype is hidden there… It's much bigger than it seems.
To give you an idea of the size, compare it to Disneyland in Florida, which is the largest theme park in the world at over 110 km².
And realise that there has been no human presence for more than a decade, since the Hour of Joy passed. So the player's arrival could be their salvation or their downfall (depends on who you ask)…because no one has visited the place, much less left (except for some toys and people who escaped). And of course, not everyone is considered an angel, just like the scientists who were involved and other people, who are already dead or eaten by the toys.
"They… they're dead."
"That's not true, darling… they're here… in a better place."
"But they all hate us… they're all hungry… they want to… get out."
"That's not going to happen… they're safe here."
"Just like you… with me… by my side."
"Why am I still here?… alive?"
"…"
"…"
"Because you are you… my Angel… my light."
How does the Prototype become interested in Morgan?
When the scientists or other people left their offices, usually at night, the cleaning staff would start their shift. Morgan would be mopping the place, headphones blasting, singing and enjoying…what little happened at her job.
The Prototype, watching from the shadows, from cameras, or from behind those walls, saw the girl enjoying herself…being herself. She had something for him…because she had something many in the factory lacked: humanity…freedom.
Besides, I'd think Morgan would be listening to something upbeat in one of the most "magical" places, just like she was led to believe as a child.
BONUS...
Morgan giving her bosses the middle finger (affectionately) for her part-time, minimum-wage job.
I understand your concern about this. I DON'T ship the boy (Ollie) with Morgan. I'm referring more to the machine, the prototype.
Besides, Ollie, when he was alive, lived in the 70's. Over time, he became the Prototype, an immortal being who has endured a great deal. He himself says that there was once an Ollie, a boy.
Morgan was 23 years old in 1995 (when the Hour of Joy occurred), so at that time, the Prototype, the machine, already existed.
Morgan wouldn't be entirely happy being captured and bound by the Prototype for over ten years. However, one gets used to it and realises it's all one has.
Besides, the Prototype would decorate Morgan's hair with poppy flowers, like a crown, an aureole for his angel.
BONUS
Now imagine being one of the scientists who have spent decades trying to understand and maintain the Prototype as a tool, only to have a cleaning lady come along and become more interested in talking to her, only her.
"Are you telling me that the cleaning lady is the only person who can calm and control 1006?"
I can't get this man out of my head, so I decided to do this. It occurred to me that there was a cleaning lady in the research area, aware that she didn't know how she had gone from being a cleaner to being the Prototype's obsession… his Angel.
Morgan is working in the cleaning/mechanical factory. Unaware that there was something…or someone watching her from behind.
If you notice, Poppy Playtime is like a family feud made into a mascot horror game.
Why? Because realize that Elliot Ludwig's two children (The Prototype/Ollie and Poppy) are fighting over the family inheritance (The Playtime Co. factory) and what can they do with this. One wanted to free everyone and burn down its foundations, and the other wanted to continue what his father did.
Then everyone is divided into factions, and there's the collateral damage of the factory collapsing.
And we (the player) are just standing there watching how we got dragged into this fight. The tea party scene explains everything (there's even a fight and an argument)
POV: You watch as Christmas dinner is ruined because your uncles are messing around at grandpa's house
If you notice, Poppy Playtime is like a family feud made into a mascot horror game.
Why? Because realize that Elliot Ludwig's two children (The Prototype/Ollie and Poppy) are fighting over the family inheritance (The Playtime Co. factory) and what can they do with this. One wanted to free everyone and burn down its foundations, and the other wanted to continue what his father did.
Then everyone is divided into factions, and there's the collateral damage of the factory collapsing.
And we (the player) are just standing there watching how we got dragged into this fight. The tea party scene explains everything (there's even a fight and an argument)
POV: You watch as Christmas dinner is ruined because your uncles are messing around at grandpa's house
Pairing: Seungcheol x reader
Word Count: 3.7k
Genre: Pure fluff
Warnings: self-indulgent nerdiness once again, thats it
Summary: When Seungcheol finds out you've married someone else in your little farm game, he takes it upon himself to change things.
Can be read stand alone, original couple made in this fic
thank you to my new amazing friend @hanniehaeo for beta-reading this on such short notice, you came in clutch and I wouldn't be here without you ✊😔
“What do you mean you married someone else?!”
Seungcheol’s outraged voice is only met by a small shrug from where you’re bundled in his blanket, perched in his gaming chair, using his PC to play his copy of Stardew Valley.
In your defense… okay, you don’t have much of one. You didn’t realize that a simple farming game would have a hot emo man waiting in his basement for you to fix his broken computer and heart.
“Sorry, baby,” you say, half-hiding a grin. “But I’m a married woman now. Anyway, the more relevant question is—what should Sebastian and I name our kid?”
The sound Seungcheol makes behind you is somewhere between a scoff and an actual growl. “Your kid? You’ve been playing this save for, what, three in-game months? You barely even upgraded your watering can!”
You swivel slowly in his chair, cocooned like a very smug burrito. “Three in-game months is 3/4ths of a year! Besides, we bonded over shared trauma,” you counter, gesturing at the pixelated couple standing in front of their cozy farmhouse. “He liked me when I was just the weird girl who kept fainting in the mines. That’s real love.”
Seungcheol’s jaw drops. “You fainted because you kept trying to fight slimes with a hoe!”
“And yet,” you say, clicking to pet your virtual dog, “he never judged me. He just stood there in the rain, smoking under that pixel tree, saying mysterious things like ‘What am I going to do today? Probably nothing.’”
Seungcheol groans like you’ve personally offended his soul. “That’s not mysterious, that’s depression!”
You gasp dramatically. “He’s deep, Seungcheol. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I would understand,” he fires back, stepping closer to peer over your shoulder, “if you didn’t just—oh my god, did you name the farm after him?”
You grin at the screen. “Sebby Acres has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
He just stares. “You didn’t even name your real plants, but this guy gets an estate.”
“Love changes people.”
“Yeah, apparently it changes your standards too,” he mutters, crossing his arms as he glares at Sebastian’s pixel sprite. “He’s just… standing there. Doing nothing.”
“He’s thinking,” you defend.
“About what, the void?”
“Maybe,” you whisper dramatically, “maybe me.”
That earns you a loud, disbelieving laugh. “You’re actually insane. You know that, right?”
You click through a few menus, ignoring him. “He made me coffee this morning.”
“Oh, so now we’re romanticizing caffeine dependency?”
“Better than romanticizing being a jealous gamer boyfriend,” you shoot back, smug.
That stops him for half a second—just enough for you to glance up and catch the exact moment he schools his expression, trying not to smile.
“I’m not jealous,” he says finally, voice lower now, softer. “I just think it’s tragic that my girlfriend is out here emotionally cheating with a pixel.”
You grin. “Emotionally cheating? Bold of you to assume it’s not physical.”
His jaw drops. “You did not just say that.”
“Oh, I did.” You spin back toward the screen. “Sebastian’s got those 16-bit biceps for a reason.”
He groans again, but this time it sounds closer to laughter than despair. You can feel him behind you now—his presence warm and looming as he leans down over the back of the chair. His chin brushes your shoulder as he squints at the screen.
“Okay,” he murmurs, voice close enough that it sends a little shiver through you, “so what happens if I—” he reaches over you, taking the mouse, “—go into your house and delete your save file?”
You gasp, clutching your blanket like a shield. “That’s a war crime!”
“Oh, it’s justice,” he says, smirking now, the corner of his mouth curling as he hovers over the [Delete] option just to watch you panic.
You twist in the chair to glare up at him. “You wouldn’t.”
“I might,” he says, teasing, but there’s that glint in his eyes—half mischief, half affection. “Maybe then you’ll stop flirting with trench-coat Minecraft boy and pay attention to your real-life boyfriend.”
You hold his gaze for a beat, heart skipping in that annoying, traitorous way it does when he’s too close. Then you say, voice quiet but pointed, “You wanna start a new save together?”
He pauses, just for a second, before burying his face in the crook of your neck and taking a deep breath. You can feel the hesitation before his hair brushes your skin as he nods.
“Even though it's a ‘boring farm game with limited rpg capabilities and—”
“Yes, yes, okay! I was wrong. M’sorry.” He pouts into your shoulder, “Promise to never judge your taste in games again. Just… marry me in our save?”
You bite back a smile, trying not to sound too triumphant. “I’ll consider it.” You turn your head to press a kiss to the top of his. “Dork.”
Seungcheol hums against your skin, the sound low and satisfied—like a man who’s just won a battle he didn’t actually fight. “ ‘Consider it,’ ” he echoes, voice muffled against your neck. “That’s not a yes.”
“That’s a maybe,” you correct, scrolling back to your cozy pixel house. “You’ll have to prove yourself worthy first.”
He leans back just enough for you to see the mock offense on his face. “Worthy? You’re acting like I have to duel Sebastian for your hand.”
You don’t look away from the screen as you murmur, “You could try, but he’s got a motorcycle.”
Seungcheol scoffs. “Oh, please. I’ve got a car.”
“Yeah, but can your car brood under the moonlight?”
“I can brood under the moonlight!” he protests, and you lose it—bursting into laughter that makes the chair spin slightly. He catches it before it can whirl too far, one hand steady on the armrest, the other landing lightly on your knee, caging you in and surrounding you with his warmth.
“See?” he says softly, the teasing edge fading to something gentler. “I can brood, I can farm, I can mine—hell, I’ll even water crops every morning if that’s what it takes.”
You blink at him. “You hate resource management.”
“I hate losing you to a pixel more.”
That earns him a snort, but the warmth that blooms in your chest gives you away. You tilt your head, studying him from under your blanket hood. “You’d actually play with me?”
“I’d actually play with you,” he repeats, earnest this time. “Even if I die every five minutes in the mines.”
You grin, leaning closer until your noses almost bump. “Then we can faint together.”
He laughs—a bright, unguarded sound—and before you can say another word, he kisses you. Just a small one, soft and warm, like punctuation on a joke that suddenly got too sincere.
When you pull back, you whisper, “You’re trying to distract me.”
Seungcheol’s smile is slow and lopsided, still close enough that you can feel his breath when he answers, “Is it working?”
You narrow your eyes at him. “Maybe.”
He chuckles, thumb brushing idly against your knee through the blanket. “Guess I’ll have to try again—hey! You’re not supposed to go back to your game!” He whines as you spin the chair back to face the screen.
“Why not?” you tease. “Keeps you guessing. Builds character.”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty of character,” he says, voice dropping just a little as he leans in again, lips brushing the skin under your ear. “I’m literally offering to play farm husband, and you’re still playing hard to get.”
“Correction,” you say, spinning back toward the monitor with a grin, “I’m playing hard to marry.” You click a few times, pretending to focus very seriously on harvesting your pixelated strawberries. “There’s a difference.”
He exhales through a laugh, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet, you’re still here,” you sing-song, clicking to water your crops. “Let me just finish this day and I’ll start us a new save file, m’kay, you big baby?”
He groans softly, the sound vibrating against your back. “You just called me a big baby while wrapped in my blanket, stealing my chair, and emotionally cheating on me with a two-dimensional man.”
You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love me.”
He huffs out a laugh, “Clearly not enough, if you’re settling for emo-boy.” He replies as he hooks his chin over your shoulder again, watching you play with that soft, restless energy he always gets when he’s trying not to admit he’s enjoying himself. His thumb starts tracing idle circles against your leg, absent-minded but distracting.
Finally, after you finish the day and save, you click back to the main menu and open a new save folder. “Go get the switch.”
He’s up before you can even finish, Nintendo Switch in hand as you create the farm and add him. You only pause to yelp when he lifts you out of the chair to settle instead with you in his lap, his arms around you, and his chin tucked over your shoulder so he can see what he’s doing.
“Clingy.” You mutter, pecking his cheek as you set up the new game. “Name suggestions?”
He hums, pretending to think very seriously as his hands settle around your waist. “Hmm… Revenge Acres.”
You blink. “Revenge?”
“For the fallen Sebastian,” he says solemnly, eyes locked on the screen. “May his emo soul rest in pixels.”
You snort, nearly dropping the controller. “You’re insufferable.”
“Or—hear me out—‘Farmy McFarmface.’”
“Absolutely not.”
He grins, delighted at your horror. “Okay, fine, fine. What about… Coups Crops?”
You stare at him flatly. “That’s the worst pun I’ve ever heard.”
“Thank you,” he says proudly. “I try.”
You roll your eyes, trying not to smile. “We’re naming it something cute. Something wholesome. Like—” You pause dramatically. “Snugglefield.”
Seungcheol physically recoils. “Snugglefield?! You’re going to make me farm turnips on Snugglefield?!”
“You’d rather live on Coups Crops?” you shoot back, turning in his lap to raise a brow.
“Yes! It’s branding!” He gestures broadly. “Imagine: local farmer S.Coups, humble provider of the valley’s finest parsnips.”
You can’t help laughing at that. “Fine, farmer Coups, but if you ever actually refer to yourself like that again, I’m divorcing you.”
He grins wide, unbothered. “You can’t divorce me if you never say yes.”
“Oh, so now it’s blackmail?”
“Strategic patience,” he says, fingers squeezing gently at your sides until you squirm.
“Mm, that’s cheating,” you warn, even as you’re giggling. “You can’t just tickle me into saying yes.”
“I can try,” he murmurs, voice dropping just enough that your breath catches. “But I’d rather earn it.” He presses his lips to your neck, softly kissing the sensitive skin.
“Focus.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You type Coup’s Crops and Co. Farm into the [Farm Name] field before selecting a type (four corners because you’re co-opping and it's clearly the only correct answer) and loading up the new farm.
“Why am I in a different house than you?” You can feel Cheol’s pout against your neck, and you laugh.
“Because you’re my farmhand. How inappropriate would a farmhand in the main house be?”
Seungcheol lets out an incredulous scoff, the kind that vibrates against your back because he’s still got his chin hooked over your shoulder. “Farmhand? Excuse me—” he reaches forward to poke your screen accusingly, “—I am co-owner material, at the very least. You think I’m waking up at 6 a.m. to water your crops for free?”
You stifle a laugh. “Technically, you’d be waking up at 6 a.m. because I’d make you.”
“Oh, so now I’m your underpaid labourer and your husband-in-waiting?” he deadpans.
You hum thoughtfully. “Sounds accurate.”
He narrows his eyes. “This is a scam.”
“Welcome to marriage.”
That makes him groan—loud and dramatic, like you’ve just told him he’s being exiled to the mines forever. “You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that?”
You grin, smug. “I am aware.”
The first few minutes of the game are chaos. You both spawn into the pixel farm surrounded by weeds, rocks, and trees—your avatar immediately starts chopping trees with your axe while Seungcheol’s stands there doing absolutely nothing.
“Cheol,” you say, suspicious, “why are you just standing there?”
“I’m observing the land,” he says sagely. “Assessing productivity potential.”
“Translation: you forgot what button makes you move.”
“...That too,” he mutters.
You giggle and hand him a quick tutorial rundown, watching his character start to move in clumsy little jerks across the field. He immediately starts cutting down grass with his scythe.
“Don’t cut that down! We need it for the animals once we build a silo!" you cry.
“It’s in the way!”
“You’re starving our future chickens and ruining my vision!”
He pauses, his avatar mid-swing, then looks over at you in real life with that slow, knowing smirk. “You mean our vision, boss.”
You turn to glare at him, but he looks way too pleased with himself, leaning back in his seat and drumming his fingers against your waist like he’s keeping score.
“Fine,” you say, feigning exasperation. “You can have a say in our vision. What’s your idea, Mr. Efficiency?”
He leans in, lowering his voice like he’s about to drop the world’s greatest strategy. “Simple. We build one big field. No decorations, no fences, just pure money-making crops.”
You stare at him, horrified. “So… you want to make a corporate farm?”
He grins, unashamed. “Coup’s Crops, LLC.”
“That’s horrifying.”
“That’s capitalism.”
“That’s worse than Joja.” You swat at his arm, laughing so hard your character stops moving entirely. “We’re not doing this. We’re gonna have flowers and beehives and cute scarecrows, and maybe—” you click a few times, placing a chest by your cabin, “—a little pond area where we can sit together.”
“...You’re making a kissing spot, aren’t you?”
You pause. “I’m making an ambiance.”
He lets out a low laugh and presses a kiss to the side of your jaw, catching you off guard. “Sure, baby. Ambiance.”
You nudge him with your elbow, trying not to smile too widely. “You’re supposed to be chopping wood, not flirting with your boss.”
“I multitask,” he says smoothly, returning his focus to the game—though his hands never quite leave you, thumbs tracing slow circles on your waist.
A few quiet minutes pass like that—soft music from the game, faint tapping of keys, the occasional ping of harvested wood—until he breaks the silence again.
“So,” he says casually, “when do I get to move into your house?”
You grin, pretending to think. “Hmm… maybe after your first successful harvest.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he complains immediately. “Sebastian didn’t have to harvest anything to get into your house.”
“Sebastian had emotional depth,” you tease, deadpan.
He gasps. “I have pecs!”
You nearly choke on your laughter. “Not the same thing, Cheol.”
He turns you slightly in his lap, enough to catch your eye with a mock glare that’s betrayed by his smile. “Oh, it’s exactly the same thing. Wait till you see me water these crops. You’ll be proposing to me by the end of the season.”
You arch an eyebrow, amused. “Confident, aren’t you?”
He grins, leaning in until his nose brushes your temple. “Farmer Coups doesn’t need confidence. He’s got irrigation.”
You groan, half laughing, half sighing. “If you make one more irrigation joke, I’m marrying Shane next.”
He stiffens. “The chicken guy?!”
You smirk. “He gives me beer.”
Seungcheol squints, pretending to process that like you’ve actually betrayed him. Then, slowly, he shakes his head. “No. Nope. That’s it.”
You blink. “What are you—hey!”
Because he’s already reaching past you, grabbing your mouse, muttering, “War crime time.”
“CHEOL—don’t you dare delete this save!”
“I’m saving it!” he insists, laughing now, “And we’re going to bed. It’s almost midnight.”
“Still early by your usual hours!” You argue as you make an attempt to grab the mouse back, but he’s stronger, and it devolves into chaos—tickling, laughing, your blanket half falling off, his voice all smug and breathless as he says, “Say you’ll marry me and I’ll stop.”
You freeze for a heartbeat, cheeks warm, eyes meeting his—he’s still grinning, but there’s a softness underneath, something a little too real.
The laughter fades just enough for the sound of your breathing to fill the space between you—shallow, uneven, caught somewhere between teasing and something that feels a lot like the truth.
“Say you’ll marry me,” he repeats, quieter this time. The playful lilt is still there, but it’s gentler now, the edge rounded by sincerity.
You blink up at him, still half-tangled in the blanket, your hair a mess, and your cursor hovering over the in-game farmhouse. “In the game,” you clarify, but your voice wavers just slightly, and he catches it—of course he does.
His grin softens, that dimple showing for just a second before he dips his head closer. “Sure,” he murmurs, “in the game.” His eyes flick toward your screen. “But, you know… maybe also not just in the game.”
You laugh, breathless and a little flustered. “You can’t just say things like that,” you whisper, trying to sound lighter than you feel.
For once, Seungcheol doesn’t immediately joke back. Instead, his grin falters—just slightly—and when he looks at you, there’s something different in his eyes. Still warm, still mischievous, but threaded through with something steadier that makes your heart stutter
He shifts, the chair creaking under both your weight, and his hand comes up to cup your jaw, gentle and grounding, “You think I’m joking?” he asks, quiet enough that the words barely clear the space between you.
All you can do is blink, breath caught in your throat as he goes on.
“I…” He exhales, a soft sound that's half nervous, half fond. “This isn’t how I planned this. I—I bought a ring like, months ago. Fuck, give me a minute.”
He picks you up and sets you down gently on the chair, leaving you wide-eyed as he rushes to rifle through his nightstand before returning with a small velvet box.
“Okay. Fuck, I had this whole plan. Flowers, dinner at the restaurant we had our first date, Jihoon was even gonna play live music like we were in a drama—”
You snort at that, despite the tears welling in your eyes as he takes one of your hands in his, getting on his knee in front of the gaming chair.
“Well, cats out of the bag now, so I guess I’ll just go with it. It’s very us.” He presses a kiss to the back of your hand, but it seems more to ground him than you. “The past three years with you have been… everything. Being able to spend time with you, have your face be the first thing I see when I wake up, and the last thing I see when I go to sleep… it made me realize that I want that forever. With you. I want every sleepy morning, or loud ones where you forget your keys and yell at me for not reminding you, even though I did.” You let out a shaky laugh, and he smiles, squeezing your hand gently. “I want to argue about our in-game farms and real-life living rooms. I want to grow old hearing you tell me how insufferable I am and how I can’t design for shit.”
You swallow hard, letting the tears fall from your eyes because there was no way you’d let them blur the vision that is Seungcheol in this moment. Your fingers shake where they hold his.
“I don’t care if we’re rich, or if we’re still living off of takeout and late-night gaming sessions,” he continues softly. “I always wanted to build something—a life, a home. But I realized that I can’t have any of that if you aren’t there. Before you, those were just words, but now… now they’re a person. They’re you.”
There’s a beat where neither of you says anything, and the only sound is the hum of the PC, the faint game music looping quietly in the background.
Then, he releases your hand to open the velvet box, revealing a ring that makes you choke out a sob. You’d only talked with him a few times about styles, gems, and rings in general, and this man listened. His hands are steady as he looks up at you, eyes filled with security and hope and fear and love as he murmurs, “Marry me.”
It’s not a question. It’s a confession, an offering.
Your hand comes up almost on instinct, fingers threading into his hair as your forehead presses back against his. “You’re supposed to have music,” you say softly. “And flowers.”
He laughs, the sound low and rough. “You’re supposed to say yes anyway.”
You breathe out a shaky laugh, tears now flowing steadily down your cheeks. “You’re unbelievable.”
He brushes his thumb over your cheek again. “And you love me.”
“I do,” you whisper, and the words feel too big, too right.
His breath catches. “Then marry me.”
You look at him—really look—and realize there’s no version of your life where you wouldn’t.
You nod, smiling through the tears. “Okay,” you say softly. “Yes.”
For a second, he just stares, eyes wide, like his brain short-circuits. Then he laughs—quiet, disbelieving—and presses a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, and your mouth, all in a flurry of warmth and relief.
He slips the ring onto your finger with a boyish smile. “This part I did plan,” he says quietly. “Just didn’t plan for you to be already married to some pixel guy first.”
You laugh through your tears, covering your face. “You’re impossible.”
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